All Of My Pipes Are Clogged

All of my pipes are clogged. Everyone else seems to have more pipework, but I just end up a mess.

My room is clogged
with clothes and gifts,
from distant relatives and parents' friends long forgotten.

My bedside is clogged
with books and CDs
from bands and authors long forgotten.

My desk is clogged
with documents and drawings
from dreams and aspirations long forgotten.

My blue bookbag is clogged
with papers and handouts
from grades and tests long forgotten.

My green bookbag is clogged
with songs and binders of sheetmusic
from melodies long forgotten.

And my mind is clogged
with knowledge I never wanted. But it's also filled with good times with good friends, remembered and cherished forever.

And my character is not clogged, but growing and healthy. I find it harder to be an ass than it once was. It's a strange thing to be nice somedays.

Alas, if I only had a plumber.